


Reversed Sunrise

by lightningwaltz



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heisuke and Hajime take a moment to prepare for the changing times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reversed Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came about because of two things. 1. I've always been amused about how Saito and Heisuke are the same age, and it's been confirmed that they are pretty close because of this. 2. I once saw a pretty say fanart of Heisuke cutting his hair, and it was a really evocative drawing.
> 
> Hence this fic.

Heisuke held his new shirt up to his face, and tried to guess how it had been made. If he crossed his eyes, he could see each individual thread; solid strands interlocking to create a broad sweep of fabric. Heisuke had heard of those machines that absorbed raw materials, refined them, made them that much easier to transform into textiles. In the end, that kind of technology was as important as cannons and rifles.

He enjoyed the way his calloused fingers whispered against the vest. He appreciated this in the same way he’d come to appreciate the scar on his forehead. They were small reminders that the water of life hadn’t completely rewritten the architecture of his body.

The sun poured down over the horizon. Within an hour it would be night for most of his friends. Within an hour it would be morning for Heisuke. If he held very still, the world seemed to lock in place. Like he was in one of those photographs that were more accurate than any drawing he’d ever seen. 

This was his daily routine, the one thing he indulged in. For a few moments he could pretend that sunset was dawn. He could pretend that his life wasn’t running in reverse.

He stood up, slid open the door, and found Hajime waiting for him. They stood nearly toe-to-toe, completely quiet, completely unmoving. Hajime’s lantern blazed, burned, and pulsed like a restless heart. He was a lean and dark shadow, his new clothes emphasizing his slight frame. If the light went out, Hajime would be in danger of vanishing completely.

“I guess it won’t be so bad to wear these things, eh?” Heisuke said, at last. His light blue jacket billowed in the wind, rushing over his bare shoulders. That was another thing that would have to go. His new outfit had rather tight sleeves.

“I had no trouble with mine.”

Heisuke’s gaze landed on Hajime’s shoulder. The ponytail was absent.

_There must have been some seriously wild fighting out on patrol._

It was a semi-private joke he’d shared with Shinpachi. Once, while drinking until their throats went numb, they decided that Hajime’s hair indicated the difficulty of a battle. If the ponytail was where it should be, then they wouldn't even sweat. If a free strands had come loose, then they’d have to be on guard, but they'd probably be fine. And if it was completely cascading down his back then things had really gotten out of hand. 

Except…

“Whoa, you cut your hair,” Heisuke said, the exact instant he realized what was really going on. The hair wasn’t out of place, it was simply gone. He stepped inside to get a closer look, and shut the door behind him. 

“Yes,” Hajime said. The flame shivered and whispered between the two of them. “I was ordered to do so.” _Of course he was. Of course._. “Hijikata-san is asking that of all of us, actually. He’ll probably call a meeting about it in the morning, but I decided that there was no point in delaying the inevitable.”

The words drifted about, free floating, crashing somewhere in the pit of his stomach. “’All of us?’” Heisuke echoed. Once again, he looked down at the new outfit clutched in his fists. He held the gold and purple sash against the black vest and squinted until all the colors ran together. The dark and the bright, merging until he couldn’t tell them apart. “ _All_ of us? Even me?” He laughed before he realized he was doing it. “Damn it! Shinpachi won’t have to cut anything. Why does he get all the luck?”

“You might not have to do it,” Hajime said, strangely fervent. “The fury corps patrol at night, when visibility is low. If you addressed your concerns with Hijikata-san, you-”

“Nah, I won’t do that.” His attempt at at a calm denial spilled out in a delirious rush of words. Dazzlingly bright self-hatred burst and receded like sparks from a firework. 

“You won’t?” 

“Nope. It would look dumb if I had this kind of hair with Western-style clothes, you know? Maybe no one else will see me, but I will still know what I look like.” 

“It’s difficult to cut it on your own.” Hajime spoke like someone with firsthand experience on the matter. “Would you like me to do it for you?” 

The suggestion was so startling that Heisuke was about to reject it out of hand. Then he took in the circles under Hajime’s eyes, and the way one of his friends’ buttons had already slipped out of place. Heisuke might not need help, but it certainly seemed like Hajime needed to offer it.

“Yeah, let’s do that. But only if you make me look good.” 

*

While Hajime was off retrieving some scissors, Heisuke knelt down in his room. He removed his hair tie, and felt everything tumble down onto his back. When he pulled some strands out of his face, his thoughts returned to the threads in his new vest. When woven together they seemed durable, but if he pulled them free of one another they’d also be no match for Hajime’s scissors. His fingers slid through his hair, and he waited to for anger or regret to clamp down on his heart. But there was nothing, nothing. 

“Heisuke,” Hajime said, announcing myself in his succinct way. He took his place on the floor. “How should we do this?” 

Heisuke shrugged. “You take my hair, and you cut it. Pretty simple.” 

“Not that,” Hajime said and, _oh crap_ , this was how he sounded when he started strategizing. “How short do you want it to be? Souji probably won’t cut off that much. You could do the same.”

_Get rid of all my hair. Let’s shave me bald!_ He thought about going through a cold, damp night that way, and he almost shivered. “Make it as short as yours. If I have to do away with my hair, I might as well go all out.” 

“If that is what you want.” Hajime’s smile bled into his words. 

Heisuke pulled his hair into an impromptu ponytail. He transferred it into Hajime’s hand, and there was a subsequent tugging on his scalp. The scissors slid open, producing a sound that was much too bright. Not many people survived when Hajime got near their face with a sharp instrument, but Heisuke would be one of the proud few. And wasn’t that something?

Then again, Chizuru belonged to that small group, too. Heisuke scratched his nails against the tatami mat, and Hajime had the smarts not to comment on that.

The sound of the first cut made Heisuke think of branches snapping off during ice rain. His shoulders twitched, and noticeably so.

“None of that,” Hajime said, lightly taping him upside the head. “I would feel very guilty if I were to harm you, even if it wasn’t entirely my fault.” 

“Eh, who cares? I’m a fury, remember?” A few strands of hair had already been shorn free, thanks to Hajime’s work. They drifted down the front of his shirt, landing in his hands like autumn leaves. Once again, Heisuke realized things were going backwards. From thoughts of winter, to thoughts of fall. This was why he’d never try to write poetry. “You could slice off my ear and I’d still be fine, you know.” 

“No.” 

Heisuke couldn't figure out what Hajime was disagreeing with, nor did he feel like asking. Instead, he did as he was told, and the scissors cut, cut, and cut again.

Hajime was silent, and that was the greatest kindness he could have shown Heisuke. But it ached, too. It ached as much as Hijikata’s gruff concern, Chizuru’s advice, or Sano and Shinpachi’s boisterous jokes. When he died again, compassion would probably be the cause. 

Still, Hajime’s fingers were gentle in his hair. They were gentled against Heisuke’s scalp. In this moment of hushed camaraderie, he finally released one of his fears.

“When I learned you were a double agent and I never even _noticed_ , I convinced myself you were laughing at my gullibility the whole time.” 

Hajime’s motions ceased. Heisuke could have sworn he even stopped breathing “Heisuke… I can understand why that would concern you, but that is not an accurate assessment of my emotions during that time.” He gave no excuses, offered no explanations, and, somehow, the last of Heisuke’s mistrust went toppling down.

“I know. I know that now,” Heisuke said, as more strands of hair tumbled free. “Anyway, then I remembered that I was just glad you had been there with me. No matter what.” 

Finally, the task was complete. Heisuke tilted his head this way and that. His center of gravity had shifted, somehow. Like when he had one too many cups of sake. He felt no need to seek out a reflective surface but, for once, it wasn’t due to leaden apathy. 

“Somehow I can tell you really did make me look good. Thanks-“

“I was glad you were there, too,” Hajime said, as rapid and unexpected as a one-motion strike. “I was really... You must now I was glad about that, too.”


End file.
